


Find My Time

by catcrowley



Category: bts, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: F/M, Kim Namjoon | RM-centric, Slow Build, jungkook - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:40:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23744695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catcrowley/pseuds/catcrowley
Summary: Sky had been a fan for years, like millions of others. But one day she's given the opportunity to meet and talk to her idols. An interview. It's like a dream. Can this be more than a dream? Can their worlds, so different from one another, collide and become one? Will they be able to find each other in the real world, at the same time?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. The Interview

Standing outside the metal door, I feel my heart about to burst out of my chest. I press my right hand over it, taking a deep breath. It's useless. Suddenly I feel completely unprepared. My entire life before this moment is just a blur; a faint, colorless memory compared to the blinding intensity of what I'm about to experience. Because a few feet away, behind this door, they are waiting for me. The seven boys I've loved and admired from afar for so many years.  
In one clumsy push, I blast it open and trip inside the room. All eyes turn towards me—the camera guys, the manager, two security guards...and them. Sitting in two rows at the center, across from the chair where I'm expected to sit and ask them questions, they giggle and stare as I just stand there, frozen. A cold wave rushes up my stomach. "Get a grip, Sky," I think to myself. "Be professional. Be. Professional." Trying to smile, I move unsteadily in their direction as they get up to greet me and I trip once again.  
"Crap," I say louder than I intended.  
Namjoon stifles laughter, covering his mouth. Hoseok and Jimin aren't as discreet and openly chuckle, but Jin takes a step towards me with his hand stretched in case I fall. His gesture makes me relax a bit.  
"Sorry," I tell them with a slight bow, sitting in my designated chair. "I'm a bit nervous. My name is Sky. 스카이이라고합니다" Right now, introducing myself is the only Korean I can remember after studying for three years.  
It seems to take them by surprise. Yoongi nods calmly, apparently satisfied. Hobi utters an "Oh!" as he tilts his head, andJungkook smiles widely. They noisily go back to their own chairs.  
"Oh, you speak Korean?" Namjoon asks in a friendly tone.  
His dimples distract me, and I get lost in his face for a second. A lock of Namjoon's currently light brown hair slips to his forehead, which draws attention to his deep brown eyes. They stare into me. Flustered, I lower my gaze and notice his white dress shirt, highlighting his toned shape—more muscular than it shows on videos. My heart skips a beat.  
I open my bag to pull out my questions, trying to focus.  
"Ahm...no, not really," I answer quickly. "Only a bit. Anyway..." I exhale, knowing I must seem like a complete amateur. "Look, I gotta be honest here."  
They wait, curiously following my movements.  
"I've been a fan of you guys for quite some time. Being able to do this interview is...amazing! I never thought I'd be able to be this close to you, let alone talk to you. And I know you must be tired from all the events and interviews—피곤하시겠어요," I add the last sentence in Korean so they can all know what I'm trying to express, "so I'm gonna make this quick. But just know that your music, your efforts, everything you do, means a lot to me. And I'm a fan before I'm an interviewer."  
Their smiles are warm and somewhat confused. My sudden confession was obviously unexpected. The manager seems to be deciding whether or not to intervene, shifting uncomfortably in place. The camera guy is waiting for directions, looking at everyone for the cue to start recording.  
"Thank you so much," Namjoon finally answers. "We really appreciate that. It means a lot to us too," he waves in the other boys' general direction.  
"I'm ready," I tell everyone matter-of-factly. "Let's begin."  
I start still a little rattled, but quickly regain my composure and calm down as they sincerely open up and answer all the questions. Hobi cracks jokes, making us all laugh. Jungkook and Yoongi talk more than usual. Taehyung and Jimin feed off each other's replies, even saying some sentences in English and doing some comedic skits. And Namjoon seems to be genuinely enjoying my interview. The 5 minutes fly by, but the crew doesn't rush me to leave as though they are having fun as well. Apparently, my attempts to include some phrases in Korean and my experience as a fan gave me some advantages. By the end, we are all laughing like old friends. But the second we get up to part ways, sadness washes over me.  
Is this it? Will I see them again? This can't be it...  
Before I realize what I'm doing, I write down my number on the corner of one of the interview pages, rip it and swiftly approach Namjoon until I'm close enough to whisper. He flinches, surprised. I know I don't have much time.  
"If you guys have a break at the end of the day," I say quietly and quickly before the crew notices, "message me and I can take you out. You've never been here before, so it would be a shame to go back to Korea without trying the food. It's a 'thank you', so it's on me."  
I hand him the paper, much to his bewilderment, and walk away. I don't look back to see if he kept it or not...my heart can only take so much.

Time passes by excruciatingly slowly as I sit in my room contemplating my life decisions. I seriously just gave my number to Kim Namjoon, leader of the biggest music group in the world. I don't know what's worse: the possibility of losing my job, or the thought of them talking about how crazy I am while throwing my number in the trash can. Diving face down on my pillow, I muffle a scream. The adrenaline of the interview is still pumping through my veins, making my anxiety a million times worse. My thoughts jump from their beautiful faces, their contagious laughter and smiles, to that one instant when Namjoon's hand took my number like it was some sort of bug he'd never seen before.  
Of course he won't message you, idiot, I think. Thousands of fans must have given them their numbers, do you think they'll message all of them? Of course not. Obviously not. That would be impossible. So stop waiting and calm your tits.  
I decide to open a bottle of wine. Dragging myself out of bed, I move to the kitchen as though I'm walking to the guillotine. "Idiot. Just forget about it." I reach for the Ravens Wood bottle gathering dust above the fridge and open the drawer to get the corkscrew. Images of them possibly talking about the 'crazy interviewer who was totally unprofessional' keep flashing in my head, intertwined with fantasies of them actually deciding to message me. "That will never happen, stupid." My hands automatically unscrew the cork. The sound it makes when it pops open feels comforting. I don't bother grabbing a glass, swigging directly from the bottle.  
The crisp sweetness fills my mouth, but it does little to clear my head. I sigh, leaning against the counter. Maybe I'll feel better if I take a shower. I take another long gulp as I walk to the bathroom and turn the hot water on. I wait until the vapor clouds engulf me and put the bottle down to get in. The hot water burns my skin, and the alcohol is starting to muddle my thoughts. I start singing loudly, which always helps when I need to feel better. Soon I start to feel like myself again. Almost.  
Twenty minutes later, still naked and holding the bottle of wine, I sit on my bed and pick up my phone looking for distractions. After scrolling through pictures, memes, fake news, and funny cat videos, I've calmed down significantly—I've never enjoyed dwelling on useless emotions. Thinking about things you can't fix won't change them.  
An abrupt buzz on my phone jolts me back to reality. It's an SMS from an unknown number. Who sends SMS these days? I ask myself annoyed. I open it, ready to find spam of some sort...  
"Hello Sky. I asked the boys and some of us are interested in going out for dinner. Do you want to come? You can respond to this number. Kim Namjoon"  
I sit up so abruptly that the bottle tips over and spills wine all over my sheets and the floor.  
What.  
The.  
Actual.  
Fuck.  
He actually messaged me.  
I start typing and deleting, more frantically than when I wrote my college thesis. It takes me literally ten minutes to decide on a couple of sentences.  
"Of course I'd love to hang out! Where do you wanna meet? Sky Winters"  
Before he replies I start hunting for clothes and make up, oblivious to the wine everywhere. I end up deciding on a black summer dress, and I'm putting it on when I hear the phone again.  
"You decide the restaurant, anything is fine as long as it's not too far from the Hotel XXX. Send us the address. See you at 7:30 pm."  
That's an hour from now. I have to get ready, find a decent restaurant, and get there in only one hour. No time to dry my hair, then. I rush to make my face presentable, put on some earrings and a denim jacket, and immediately search for restaurants near his location. I find one that's relatively private and high end and call to make a reservation. Namjoon never told me how many of them were coming, so I book a table for eight just in case. The person at the other end of the call protests because I'm making the reservation last minute, but changes his tune as soon as I tell them who it's for. So about forty minutes since Namjoon's last message, I text him the address and head out to meet them.  
After a bumpy taxi ride and a few mini panic attacks, I arrive at the location five minutes early. They are already at the entrance. Namjoon, Jungkook, Jin, and Hobi. They haven't changed their outfits since the interview—Namjoon, with his white dress shirt and ripped jeans; Hobi with a black t-shirt, a red expensive-looking jacket, and black jeans; Jungkook wearing a black turtleneck sweater, dark pants, and boots; and Jin with a light blue sweater, denim pants, and a tan overcoat. They look just as perfect as earlier, albeit visibly more tired. Meanwhile, my hair hasn't completely dried yet and my make up is definitely not as meticulous as it was this morning when we met. I hope they don't regret seeing me again.  
They nod and smile as I walk toward them. I wave giddily, indicating with a gesture that we should go inside. I tell the hostess we have a reservation as I reach the door, and we're quickly lead to our table in the most private spot of the restaurant—a smaller table than the one I initially booked, as we're a party of five now. It's rectangular, one side adjacent to the stone wall. I sit first, partly because I'm nervous and, in some measure, because I don't wanna have to decide who I should sit next to. Namjoon also sits by the wall, across from me. Jin sits beside him and Jungkook takes the seat by my side; he smells of soft, musky spices. Hobi sits at the head of the table. The whole situation feels like a drunken hallucination.  
I need to break the ice or I'll go mad. "Did you have trouble finding the restaurant?" I ask a bit breathless.  
Namjoon shakes his head with a half-smile. "No, no. No problem at all."  
"Thank you for deciding to hang out," I say looking at the four of them."I really thought you wouldn't message me." I have unpleasant flashbacks of my meltdown featuring spilled wine.  
"Thank you," Jungkook emphasizes while grinning. "Your interview was...very good."  
I laugh at his unexpected compliment. "It was?"  
"Yeah!" Hobi exclaims cheerfully with a thumbs up. "Best interview."  
"We really liked your questions," Namjoon assented, intently looking into my eyes. "And also, meeting a fan."  
"I liked meeting you guys a lot more, I can tell you that," I say tilting my head to the side .  
Namjoon chuckles as the waiter brings over the menus. We thank him and start looking through our options.  
"What would you like to try?" I ask in both English and Korean.  
"You choose," Jin answers in English, leaning away from the menu in Namjoon's hand. "I...trust you."  
The chatter continues lightheartedly as I tell them the best dishes and explain my favorites. We decide on five different ones and some beer, which arrives swiftly after our order. During dinner, I mostly talk to Namjoon because my Korean isn't great and he's the only one fluent in English, but Jungkook manages to communicate with me quite a lot too. I ask everything I couldn't ask in front of the cameras, including some personal questions. They cackle when I inquire if Jimin ever broke Jeongyeon's heart, as the beef between Jimin and the Twice member is public knowledge.  
"Maybe," Jungkook spills cheekily.  
"Maybe?" I repeat, raising one eyebrow.  
"Something was definitely broken," Namjoon pokes while finishing his second beer.  
"Wait, wait—"  
"It's a secret," Hobi interrupts loudly. "A secret."  
"Ah, come on! Tell me, 말해주세요!" I insist in Korean.  
"It's a secret, man!" Jin repeats. "You know?"  
We continue joking and having beers after dinner is over. I tell them my favorite album is LY Tear, and we sing bits of Fake Love despite the odd stares in our direction. We're all tipsy and relaxed—except for Hobi, who only had one beer and changed to soda. Kookie seems to be the most affected since he starts being touchy with everyone; myself included. Namjoon looks a bit serious whenever Jungkook touches me, but I brush it off as him being concerned about people recognizing them and misinterpreting the gesture.  
It's almost 11:00 pm when we decide to leave. They have a flight back to Korea the next day. I'm tipsy enough that I have no reservations showing my disappointment outside the restaurant as we wait for their ride.  
"I wish we didn't have to say goodbye," I pout. "I know I'll never see you guys again, and it sucks. It's like...a part of my heart is leaving."  
Namjoon steps closer to my left, looking at the road instead of me. "Maybe we'll see each other again. You never know."  
It takes me aback. "What?"  
"I mean...you're our friend now," he says softly, so only I can hear."Friends hang out. Right?"  
I hesitate. His words are innocuous, but something about avoiding my gaze and whispering secretively makes this sound like a promise. Like he's letting me in on an inside joke that only he and I can share. It makes my heart flutter, and I can't pinpoint why.  
He glances at me with a smirk. "You don't wanna see me again?"  
I nearly gasp. "Of course I do!"  
"Then I'll see you around, Sky."  
Right then, a fancy black car parks in front of us and the door opens.  
"Aw, goodbye!" Hobi tells me as he bows and smiles while getting into the car. "Thank you for everything."  
"Goodbyeee," Kookie says stroking my shoulder.  
"Goodbye, friend," Jin also bows, smiling warmly before enters the vehicle.  
Namjoon is the last one out. He looks at me one final time and nods. "See you."

And, like that, they ride away into the night.

...To Be Continued.


	2. What Am I To You

“I have to get to practice. Talk to you later... Tell me what you think about the movie I mentioned.”

I read his text with a smile. It's been three months since I met Namjoon and the boys. At the time, I thought our encounter was little more than a fairy tale; like going to Disneyland before returning to normal life. Even after he implied we might see each other again, I still woke up the next morning feeling like it had all been a dream—granted, the hangover probably didn't help. Yet, to my utter astonishment, he messaged me two days later and we have been talking almost daily, schedule permitting. Sometimes they're short exchanges, just checking up on one another; other days, we spend hours discussing anything and everything. Although I often catch myself fangirling when I think about it, talking to him also feels as natural as chatting to my best friend. And I sense he feels the same way, as he never seems to get bored with our interactions.

I put the phone away and get back to work. My internship as a media content creator/reporter has started taking off since I interviewed BTS, which means I work overtime more often than not. I enjoy what I do, but I could use a moment of peace now and then. Especially since a fan took a picture of the boys and me at the restaurant that night...Though my face was not fully visible in it, some still managed to find out who I am and harass me. Luckily, nothing is confirmed and it hasn't gone beyond becoming a mild inconvenience. But my life has definitely been turned upside down in more than one way.

“Hey, Sky,” my supervisor calls from the other side of the office. “Get over here for a second.”

I get up and walk past the rows of collective desks and computers until I reach hers, the only individual desk in the room. Hannah, a pale, skinny blonde in her fifties, pushes up her glasses, and looks at me.

“You called for me?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she states coldly. “Did you finish that article that was due tomorrow?”

“Of course, I sent you the draft an hour ago.”

“Oh, you did?” Her monotone answer sounds disinterested. Hannah always seems upset, and I can never tell if it's because she hates me or if it's her personality. “I didn't see. Good. Anyway, that's not why I called.”

I fidget with the hem of my gray top as I wait, expecting a scolding of some sort.

“We have to make an article about K pop,” she continues while looking at something on her computer screen. “You interviewed those guys a few months ago and everyone liked it, so the boss decided to send you.”

“...send me?”

“To Korea.”

Her words hit me like an ice bucket. “Korea? Me? Really?”

She scratches her right cheek and lifts her eyes towards me. “Yeah. But you have to pay for food and hotel, we just pay for the ticket. It's for three days, to cover some award show. If you're not interested, we can send someone with more experience. It would probably be better...” She says between her teeth.

“No, no!” I blurt out. “I'm interested! I'm definitely interested.” Even if I have to sleep on a park bench, I'm going, I think. “When is the trip? What's the—”

“I'll send you the details by email,” she interrupts. “The trip is in two weeks. You can get back to work, now.”

I move back to my desk in a haze and the rest of the day passes me by in slow motion. All I can think of is what I'm gonna pack, how much I'll be able to spend, the food I'm going to eat, the sights I'll discover, the people I'll meet...No, not just people.

The person.

I want to see BTS again and meet all the other artists I admire but, more than anything, the prospect of maybe seeing Namjoon gives me butterflies. It feels different. Somehow getting to know him affected me more than I'd realized.

As soon as my shift is done I consider texting him to give him the news, my heart in my sleeve. Talking to him has been fun, but we live in different worlds. I never lost sight of that fact. All the scary fans harassing me the past three months wouldn't let me forget it, even if I had. And now, aware that my feelings ran their course faster than I'd planned, I'm afraid of the consequences. I'm terrified that seeing him again will only make it worse. I take the bus home with the phone still in my hand; it stays there until I arrive at the building half an hour later.

I finally gather the courage to tell him once I get in my house and sit on my bed. If I know we don't belong in the same universe, so does he. And that is all there is to it. I can see just him again and get over myself, once and for all.

“Guess what? I'm coming to Korea in a couple of weeks for the award show. Funny, huh? Who knew...

I know this is gonna seem weird, but thinking of seeing you again made me a little nervous. I think I got a bit carried away with our friendship.”

I press send and go to the shower leaving the phone behind. Once I'm done, I throw on an old t-shirt and my underwear and start preparing to make spaghetti. I'm trying to focus on the logistics of the trip as I make dinner, but the urge to check my messages makes it impossible to focus. I slice my finger while chopping onions, spill tomato sauce on the stove, and nearly burn the pasta. With a loud sigh, I give up and turn the stove off before going for my phone. I know he'll likely be too busy to reply as it's the middle of the afternoon over there, but I have to check and have some peace of mind. And, as expected, he hasn't read it yet.

Placing the half-burnt pasta on a plate, I sit in front of the TV to watch Before Sunrise, the movie he recommended earlier. It's beautifully romantic in its simplicity and realism, and I make mental notes to share with him later. But will he want to know, after my message? Maybe he'll decide to keep our distance, after all. It’s one thing to chit-chat with a long-distance fan and friend, and an entirely different is having to meet up with a person who has a crush on you and you have no intention of ever being with. It might be burdensome to him; how could it not? Namjoon's life is always at full speed and dealing with admirers would only slow him down.

I finish eating, wrap up the movie, and put my dishes on the sink to soak. I should sleep soon, but I know I won't be able to. I open my laptop to check the guidelines for my upcoming article and the trip to Korea, searching for useful information online until very late. My message is still left unread, so I brush my teeth and try to sleep. Eventually, the tossing and turning exhausts me and I accomplish three or four hours of sleep.

When the alarm wakes me up, I immediately reach for my phone. Finally, there is a response. And not just one or two sentences, but a whole wall of text. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and taking a deep breath.

“I wanna say it's funny you're coming, but I can't say I didn't expect it. To be honest, I suspected as much. I told you I'd see you around, didn't I?

As I write this after a long day of rehearsal, I feel the loneliness of my empty room and wonder if I can ever live up to the expectations placed on us, BTS. We worked hard for many years to repay the love of our fans, but underneath the RM persona I'm still just an ordinary guy. And I look for little things, moments, words, that keep me in touch with who I really am every day of my life. I'm afraid I might lose myself if I don't. That I'll lose sight of what this is all for.

But with you, I was able to show my true self without even trying. Through your words on that interview, through your eyes, I felt I could find myself. That's the reason why I messaged you. I don't think you being there for me is a given, but I sincerely hope to find a piece of you in my daily life and it makes me happy when I do. Does this mean I am getting carried away by our friendship? Am I abusing your appreciation of RM and BTS to keep you close to me, Namjoon? I don't know. I really wonder. What I do know is that I'm not ready to let this friendship go, whatever that means. I hope you feel the same way.

I'm impatiently waiting to see you here.”

My heart races as I re-read his message at least ten times. I recognize his lyricism, the poetry so quintessential to Namjoon's writing. But most importantly, I perceive the sentiment behind them. I fear that now I won't be able to restrain my feelings anymore. The dam holding them back was already cracked, and now they pour freely in a devastating cascade that carries away whatever restrictions I still had left. There is no turning back.

I arrive at the Incheon International Airport in Seoul at 5:00 am on a Friday. There aren't many people around besides the ones arriving and those waiting for them behind the yellow fences. I follow the signs indicating the exit, where I can take the bus to my hostel—it's an almost two hour trip from the airport. I'll have plenty of time to go sightseeing before I have to show up at Gocheok Sky Dome to get my staff credentials in the afternoon.

When I make my way past the arrivals lounge, a young, stylish Korean man rushes after me with a sign.

“Sky?” He calls as he hurries his steps.

I stop hesitantly. “Yes?”

He holds up the sign, which reads “SKY WINTERS” in black letters. “Sky?”

“Yes?”

He exhales, seemingly relieved. He mumbles something and adds with a heavy accent “Come with me.”

“Wait,” I lift my right palm to halt him. “Who are you?” I ask in Korean. “Where are we going?”

“Ah,” he says clearly more comfortable hearing his language. “I'm Lee Ji-woo. Mr. Namjoon sent me.”

I had told Namjoon my flight details, yet I knew he would never be able to pick me up. It never occurred to me that he would send someone instead. The last two weeks after we expressed our feelings about our friendship, we barely had time to talk as I prepared for my trip and he rehearsed for the award show. A part of me started to doubt I'd be able to see him at all. But now reality hit me.

“Namjoon?” My voice wavers. The man nods and indicates the way, eagerly waiting for me to follow. “Okay.”

We go to a sturdy yet beautiful black car in the parking area. Jin-woo isn't saying much, simply helping me with my suitcase and opening the door for me to hop in. However, he doesn't ask the directions to my hostel. As he turns the ignition on, I start to get nervous.

“Excuse me,” I say as he reverses to leave. Pulling out the paper where I wrote the hostel address from my black purse, I lean forward and hand it to him. “This is my hostel.”

“No, no,” he shakes his head without taking it, still focused on maneuvering the car. We are on the move.

No? What does he mean, no? “Where are you going?”

He answers something I can't understand. All I hear is “apartment”, but the rest is lost in translation. For a moment I wonder if this guy is truly who he says or if I'm about to be kidnapped and murdered. However, he did have a sign with my full name and knew I would be there, so he must know Namjoon. Some clarification would help, though. I pull out my phone and message Namjoon himself.

“A guy named Ji-woon picked me up saying you sent him. Where am I going? He's not taking me to my hostel, so I'm confused...”

All I see outside is the typical view from most airports surrounding areas—a lot of nothing. I wait for his reply nervously biting on the side of my fingers as the scenery moves quickly past us. It isn't until we cross a long bridge into Seoul that I receive a reply.

“Sorry, I tried to stay up while waiting for you, but I fell asleep. Did Jin-woo treat you alright? He's taking you to an apartment near the office so you can be more comfortable. And it will be easier to hang out. I'll see you later.”

It feels awkward to know he rented an apartment for me. I hate receiving favors from people. Even though he can surely afford it, the fact that he just assumed he could do that without consulting me or letting me know first is really bothersome. Besides, I had already paid for the hostel. I do like that it will allow us to see each other more easily, but I could have made it work even if he hadn't done that. Now I'm torn between all the positive expectations for this trip and the weight of being indebted to someone I like.

After almost two hours, we arrive at a tall building in the fancy area of Seoul, Gangnam. There is already a number of well-dressed people bustling to work. The overcast sky indicates there might be snow sometime soon, and I sense my coat won't be warm enough for this weather. We enter the building, where a man in uniform greets us. He and Jin-woo talk for a minute before the man assents and lets us through to the elevator, where my guide presses the button to the 8th floor. He smiles timidly as we go up; my face is probably more serious than usual, but I also try to smile.

When we get to the door, he hands me a paper with the code to open the door. “Password,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“Alright, then. Goodbye,” he tells me with a polite bow and leaves.

I sigh and press the numbers, ready to lie down for a bit. As I walk in, the apartment is already warm. The decoration is modern and minimalist—wooden floor, a big white couch, and white furniture. I leave my shoes at the door and notice the floor is also warm. Everything about the apartment reminds me of the k-dramas I've watched so many times. It makes me even more self-conscious about Namjoon's gesture. As I'm opening my suitcase in the bedroom, my phone suddenly buzzes.

“Jin-woo told me you made it to the apartment. I have stuff to do until 2 pm and then again at 3:30 pm, but I'll visit you for a bit to have lunch.”

I decide it's better to not talk about how I'm feeling over text, so I simply reply with an “okay” and plunge onto the king-sized bed. My stomach is in a knot of anxiety over seeing him again after so many months, but my heart is somehow heavy. Why would Namjoon do all this? Is he like this with all his friends, or is this out of character?

What am I to him?


	3. The Most Beautiful Moment In Life

After a much needed nap and a shower, I spent the rest of the morning walking around the cold neighborhood before returning to the apartment to wait for him. Now I sit on the couch, staring at the door every so often and more frustrated by the minute. I feel like one of those traditional housewives who only exist to wait for their man, obediently adjusting to their schedules and whims. Instead of being a tourist and enjoying this new place, I'm tied to an apartment I never asked for.  
It's 2:24 pm when I hear a subtle knock on the door. In a leap, I get up and hurry to open it, momentarily forgetting all my doubts. And there he is, standing before me as though we said goodbye only yesterday. Namjoon removes his face mask and widens a smile, his dimples deepening on his cheeks. He's wearing a thick black coat and a black beanie, and in each hand holds a paper bag.  
"Hi," he says visibly excited.  
I smile despite myself, my heart nearly galloping out of my rib cage. "Hi."  
"Can I come in?" He asks, holding up the bags.  
I step aside without a word and he walks in, his smile still bright on his face. Namjoon seems to hesitate as he takes off his shoes by the entrance. His hands go back and forth, but I'm not too sure what his intention is.  
"Do you want me to put that somewhere?" I wonder out loud.  
"Uh…oh, yeah," he hands me the bags. Our hands touch for a second and a jolt of electricity runs up my skin. We avoid each other's gaze, both staring at our feet. "It's…fried chicken," he says  
"I'll set the table," I say, already moving to the kitchen.  
My face is suddenly burning. I want to hug him, tell him I missed hanging out and just look at him until I memorize every detail—but I also want to ask him about the apartment, scold him and figure out what on Earth is going on between us.  
I put the bags on the counter and start taking the food out when I notice his presence close behind me. Before I turn my head, he mutters softly "I missed you." I hold my breath instinctively.  
It takes me a second to let go of the food and turn around. He's facing me with a mix of nervousness and determination. My throat tightens and I dry swallow.  
"Me too," I confess, grasping at the marble counter behind me. "But…" I trail off, distracted by the fresh soap smell emanating from his warm skin and the proximity of his thick lips.  
"…but?" He prompts me.  
Looking down to gather my thoughts, I blurt out "But I'm not sure why you rented this place without telling me, so I…have mixed feelings about it."  
He takes a small step back. I lift my eyes to find his confused expression, furrowing the space between his eyebrows.  
"Why did you rent an apartment without telling me? What is this," I continue, gesturing around, "supposed to mean?" My heart is still unstable, and my voice clearly shows it.  
"I… I don't—" Namjoon is serious, carefully processing my words.  
"I know you have money," I say, now letting all my thoughts out, "but I'm not a pet or toy. You can't just put me wherever you want without consulting me. It felt pretty crappy, to be honest. Are you like this with all your friends?"  
He shakes his head once with a frown as though he's disappointed.  
I take a deep breath. "I just wanna know what you were thinking."  
"I was thinking that I wanted to have you close, and that you'd like it too," he answers naturally. "That it would be a nice surprise. I never thought—"  
"Well, you should have thought," I interrupt him. "I don't wanna owe you. I don't want debts between us. I don't want your money."  
"I never thought you wanted my money!" He sounds slightly annoyed. "Why are you trying to fight right now?"  
"I'm not trying to fight, I'm trying to understand," I clarify.  
"I already explained," he insists a bit exasperated, "I wanted you close. I don't have a lot of free time, and I didn't want to miss this chance to see you. But now we're wasting time talking about this instead of hanging out…I gotta say, that's not how I imagined this."  
I scoff. "What exactly did you imagine?"  
He sighs deeply and moves to the couch as he removes his jacket and throws it on a chair. I follow him, more irritated than excited at this point. He's a smart guy, but he can be really obtuse sometimes. Scrubbing his eyes, Namjoon grunts as he sits down and leans back.  
"I know you're tired," I say slowly.  
"Yes," he answers without opening his eyes.  
"And I do wanna spend as much time with you as possible." Namjoon finally looks at me and I can't tell if he's disappointed or frustrated. "But for regular people like me," I continue, "who aren't rich or famous, your gesture can be kinda offensive depending on the context. I just… I'll believe you didn't mean it in a bad way. I'll have to pay you back, though."  
He offers me his right hand. I hesitate for a second, but I ultimately take it. Namjoon pulls me beside him, the couch making a muffled sound as I fall. Our bodies are pressed against each other, his face inches away from mine.  
"Stop talking about money," he pleads sincerely as he stares into my eyes, still holding my hand. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you before about the apartment. I've just been busy, I barely had time to plan anything…and I was too excited to think ahead. But I…" He pauses with a hint of a smile. "I can't believe you're here."  
The weight in my chest swiftly vanishes and I exhale instinctively. Yet, my thoughts are running wild. There is still a lot left unsaid, and I don't fully understand it. I can't really grasp what we are, what he wants, or where we're going. My mind is screaming for solutions.  
Seemingly sensing my confusion, Namjoon places his left hand gently on my right cheek. It feels warm and soft. We are silent, simply lost in one another's expressions. His hand moves from my cheek to my hair, caressing it with his long fingers. At first it's comforting. Being touched by him calms me, my muscles relaxing one by one.  
However, now that my walls are down, I'm no longer in control. I start breathing faster. Namjoon notices it, a faint, crooked smile playing on his lips. He confidently pulls my head closer, my lips nearly brushing his. My body reacts despite myself, shuddering as my eyes shut. For a moment I just feel his respiration and warmth on my skin.  
Suddenly, his mouth presses smoothly against mine, moving slowly until my lips part. I feel a rush of adrenaline awaken me, sending shivers...making me tremble. Without thinking, my tongue seeks his, my right hand holding onto the nape of his neck. And, as our tongues meet, his gentleness disappears.  
He pushes me down to the couch as we kiss, his hand releasing mine to grab my waist and adjust my body under his. I moan as his weight overpowers me. I push my hip onto his jeans as I lift my right leg to fold around his muscular thighs. He groans, moving his tongue with more urgency. I feel his heartbeat racing along with mine, the clean taste of his mouth, his inebriating scent. I lose track of time. He pulls back after a while to stare into my eyes, our tangled up bodies still writhing on each other. Our ragged breathing is loud and deep.  
"Do you want me to keep going?" Namjoon whispers in his grave voice.  
Biting my lip, I don't dare say a word. Every inch of me is yearning for him, and right now the rest of the world doesn't exist. Words don't exist. I knot the hem of his sweater on a fist and pull it up aggressively. He raises his torso removing it at once, along with his t-shirt and his beanie, freeing his disheveled hair. His slender muscles tense up as he wraps his arms around my hips, easily lifting me while he stands up with my legs on each side of his upper body.  
As he moves to the bedroom, I take off my shirt and unbutton my bra. He leans forward and sucks skillfully on my left nipple. I moan louder.  
Namjoon throws me on the bed as he stands and we immediately slide off the rest of our clothes, intently gazing at one another. Now we're both completely naked, but he doesn't climb onto the bed yet. Raising his jaw slightly, his lips half parted, he grabs his surprisingly big, hard cock and starts stroking himself as he drinks me with his eyes. I feel exposed and powerful at the same time.  
"Come here," he commands.  
My body is tingling, electrified by his voice. I crawl to the end of the bed as he smiles. With one hand he pulls my head up by the hair and leans down to an animalistic, almost painful kiss.  
Then, with his tongue down my throat, we hear his phone ring from his jeans on the floor.  
"Fuck," he groans, his lips still on mine.  
I shake my head and kneel on the mattress, holding onto him by the neck. My breasts brush against his chest and he pulls me closer with both arms, kissing the line of my jaw. The phone is still ringing. Namjoon throws his head back in frustration. "Aaagh! Fuck."  
"Don't…" I whisper, desperately pressing our bodies together.  
He lets out a painful sigh and kisses me once on the mouth, softly saying "I have to" before he releases my grip. I sit back and he picks up the phone. Our breathing is still irregular, so he sounds like he was running or coming out of a dance practice. Whoever called must be asking about it, because I hear him answering "Oh, it's nothing".  
I'm too frustrated to stay and listen.  
Snatching my clothes, I leave the bedroom and go to the kitchen to put them on. My heartbeat is slowly getting back to normal, but my face is burning red—I'm not sure if from lust or anger. I check the time on a clock hanging on one of the walls. It's almost 3 pm. In one of the bags he brought, I see a few cans of beer; I open one and down almost half of it in a single gulp. After less than five minutes, Namjoon leaves the room with his pants already on. He looks as frustrated as I feel.  
"I'm sorry," he says, exhaling. "It was the manager. I have to go back a little bit earlier."  
I snort at the irony. "Oh well. I guess that's that."  
He clicks his tongue in a disgruntled sound, his eyes apologetic. "I know."  
"But you didn't eat," I realize out loud.  
"It's okay," he shrugs. Bending to pick up the rest of his clothes, he adds "I'll have some time later."  
I bite the side of my finger, the beer on my other hand. After he gets dressed and adjusts his beanie, he stops in front of me and clutches my face into his big hands.  
"Can we see each other even if it's a little late?" He asks softly. "It doesn't have to be here…we can take a walk. It'll be dark, so it should be alright."  
Taken aback by a sudden awareness, I feel butterflies in my gut. I understand that, partially, my concerns about him renting me a place were because I felt he might just want to use me in secret. Pay for me to stay put while he got sex in return—which he almost got anyway, though that's beside the point. But he just said he wants to see me outside. Outside. He wants to spend actual time with me. It wasn't until this moment that I started to believe it.  
Also, he could have sex with anyone at any time, if he were so inclined; why would he go through so much trouble just to do it with me? I chuckle at my realization.  
He lifts an eyebrow, still holding my face. "Why are you laughing?"  
"Because… just because."  
His phone rings again; quickly zipping up his coat he asks once more "Can I see you later?"  
I nod, a genuine grin on my face. He kisses me goodbye, puts on his mask and leaves, waving once from the door.

Seoul city lights glimmer on the Han river, illuminating bits of floating ice over the dark water. The freezing wind cuts through my coat and scarf; even though I'm wearing gloves, my fingers start to go numb. I inwardly list all my tasks, trying to focus on anything but the cold: Hannah is informed that I got my staff credentials for the weekend, I have a couple of interviews lined up, and I already started a draft for the article. My thoughts revolve around the questions I'll ask for a few minutes until I exhaust the topic, moving on to the tourist part of my trip.  
I got to visit quite a few of the places I wanted to see throughout the afternoon, like the N Seoul Tower. I also managed to eat fishcakes and soju for dinner, crossing one more item from my ever-growing bucket list. I love the city, just as I knew I would...though perhaps the events leading up to my sightseeing excursion might have something to do with my favorable impressions.  
As the memory of Namjoon fills my head, I smile involuntarily. I've been giddy and giggling ever since we met, and now it's intensified as I wait for him once again.  
It seems like endless minutes pass by before I hear bicycle wheels approaching. The tall figure wearing a hoodie, a trench coat and a mask is unmistakable. He halts the bike a step away and jumps off, lowering the mask enough for me to see his smile. I grin even wider.  
“Did you wait long?” Namjoon asks. “I tried to hurry, but...”  
“No, it's fine,” I respond, moving closer to him. He towers over me, so I have to look up. “I know you have a lot to do.”  
He rubs my back affectionately. “Ah, what should we do? You seem cold.”  
As if on cue, sleepy white flakes begin to flurry about us, dancing to the motions of the wind. He puts one arm around me, pulling me towards him.  
“Let's go for a walk,” Namjoon suggests. “Then we won't be cold.”  
We walk while his arm is still around my shoulder, his other hand guiding the bike. There is no one out by the river at this hour, not on a cold night like this. We move slowly, unconcerned and free. He tells me about the rest of his day and I fill him in on mine. We joke about the small things because we are not worried about the big ones. Touching one another is thrilling and new, yet it feels right. Some time later—perhaps half an hour, maybe longer—we decide to stop for a bit beneath a leafless tree. As we watch the snow in an embrace, the quiet stillness of dawn takes over.  
“Were you planning for...what we did earlier?” I inquire softly after a while.  
I feel his body vibrate as he chuckles. “The almost sex?” I laugh and bite his chest playfully. He grunts and kisses the top of my head. “No,” he answers. “But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping for it.”  
“Since when?”  
He pauses for a few seconds. “I'm not sure.”  
“Liar.”  
Namjoon pushes me away, still holding my shoulders, and stares me down pretending to be offended. “What did you say?”  
I laugh again. “Liar! You know you're a pervert.”  
Covering his mouth to feign shock, he repeats “Pervert?”  
“That's right,” I tease him.  
In a swift move, he grabs me and pins me against the tree, his body holding me in place. “Is it?”  
He kisses me lasciviously, taking me by the throat in a firm but gentle grasp. The tree bark feels rough on the back of my head, yet his lips are soft and supple. I dissolve into his touch. My hands automatically go to his waist band, underneath his hoodie. Then his kiss stops as abruptly as it started.  
Opening my eyes in a daze, I look up. He's staring at me, triumphant.  
“Are you sure I'm the pervert here?”  
I smack him on the arm a few times. “You jerk!”  
We laugh and wrestle playfully for a minute before he embraces me tightly again.  
“I really don't know,” he finally says, resting his chin on my head. “But I started liking you really fast.”  
His statement makes my heart flutter. “You like me, then?” I whisper.  
“Yeah. I like you,” he says unashamed. “I'm not used to feeling this. We don't get a chance to date much, so our connections are usually, like...fleeting. But it was different with you. I think from the first time we met, something was different.”  
I tilt my head to gaze onto his face. “I like you too.”  
He smirks timidly, lowering his eyes the same way I'd seen him do so many times in interviews. Taking a deep breath, I look at the river. The sky is dark above us, but the light grows quickly on the horizon.  
“I wish...” I mumble, but I can't make myself complete the sentence.  
I can't ruin everything by pointing out the obvious—that no matter how much we like one another, we'll probably never be able to make it work. That these are stolen moments, stolen kisses, and they will end. But somewhere along the way, I decided it didn't matter. This moment is too beautiful to taint it with fear. This moment is ours.


	4. House of Cards

“...and the award goes to BTS!”  
The crowd bursts into cheers as the boys walk towards the bright stage to receive the final award. Their expressions are heartwarming and humble even after receiving quite a few throughout the night. I record everything trying not to miss any details, from the emotionally charged atmosphere to the designer shoes they're wearing. Namjoon begins his speech thanking the fandom, as always, and the others cheerfully surround the microphone waiting for their turn. The tailored suits, their perfectly colored hair, their surreal beauty—it all comes together to make their presence almost magical.  
A reporter bumps against me while moving forward to take pictures. It's not the first time today that someone treats me as though I'm invisible, but we're all just doing our jobs...so I brush it off and keep recording the speech. Taehyung cries during his part, Jungkook also wipes a few tears discreetly and everyone is moved by some of the revelations Jin shares with us. The MC approaches them to close the show, and confetti pours onto the stage. Rapid-fire flashes sparkle in unison.  
When it's all over, the crowd hurdles towards the exits. I wait patiently, trying to avoid the tumultuous exodus. Their performance and speech were enough to satiate me; I'm in no hurry to leave. Several minutes go by, and when all the VIPs and celebrities have gone, I finally start moving as well.  
There are still quite a few fans in the stadium. As I reach one of the gates to step outside, a few BTS fans still waving their ARMY bombs walk beside me. One of them points me out and starts whispering to five other girls. I keep walking, used to being singled out as a foreigner. But they seem to match my steps closely. I rush, making a turn to see if they are actually following me, and end up on an emptier, poorly lit side with the dome to my right and the highway to my left. It seems I lost them, so I relax. I pull my phone out and send Namjoon an audio telling him I'm outside and that I enjoyed the show. I don't hear the steps closing in.  
After I press send, I hear them a split second before I see them approach me. They are six young girls and one guy, taller than me.  
“I told you it's her,” one of them says in Korean.  
“Yeah, that's right,” another replies with a menacing tone, “it's that bitch.”  
I've lived this situation before. Fans recognizing me from the picture with the boys, asking for explanations. Being threatening and insulting while assuming I'm trying to steal their idol away from them. But it had happened in a familiar country, with people that actually spoke my language. These were completely different circumstances.  
In my nervousness, I can't remember much of Korean. I quickly try to ease my way out in English. “I don't know what you're thinking, but—”  
One of them pushes me with the hand still holding their ARMY bomb. “Who do you think you are?”  
They angrily start cursing at me, too quickly for me to understand. Another one of the girls pushes me too, and yet another. They take turns trying to make me fall as the boy simply watches with his arms folded. I try to push back, but the first girl slaps my hand and my phone falls and crashes onto the cement. The second girl takes advantage of my distraction and slaps me hard across the face. I can make out some words, like “bitch” and “they're not yours”, but not much else. My cheeks are burning in anger, but the pit of my stomach can sense the threat. I'm alone. I can't take them all at once.  
They become more aggressive, making me lose my balance. Suddenly I fall to my right, my hip and elbow taking most of the impact. “Stop, you freaks!” I shout, but there is no one else around.  
Or so I thought. “Yah!” A familiar voice yells from behind me, and the clomping of someone running echoes as the girls momentarily stop. I lift my head. It's Jungkook. They glare in astonishment.  
“What are you doing?”  
He offers me his hand and supports me from the back to get me up. I grab my broken phone as I stand.  
Kookie sounds furious. “Are you crazy?”  
The guy who came with the fans then approaches the group in protective mode. “Are you calling my girlfriend crazy?”  
“I'm okay,” I mumble in Korean. “Let's just go.”  
“Is she your girlfriend, Jungkook oppa?” One of the girls asks loudly. The others repeat similar questions, some sounding genuinely angry while a couple have a concerned tone in their voice.  
“Come on,” Kookie says, still holding me.  
“You can't go,” the protective boyfriend says blocking our way. He's a bit bigger than Kookie, but not by much. “Apologize to my girlfriend.”  
“Move,” Jungkook hisses. I look at his face. I've never seen him so serious.  
“Why? What you're gonna do?” He seems bitter, as though he is more interested in instigating a fight than protecting his girl.  
Just then, a couple of security guards move hastily towards us from my left, probably following Jungkook. The boy still hasn't seen them, shoving Kookie's shoulder. But Jungkook doesn't budge, simply tilting his head once with a crooked smile.  
In a swift movement, Jungkook releases me and swings at the boy. The punch hits him right at the temple and he wobbles, stumbling and falling on his back. The security guards reach us at this moment, stepping in between them. I see a few flashes; the girls are taking pictures with their phones. One of the guards helps the boy as the other exchanges whispers with Kookie. He nods.  
“Let's go,” he tells me in English, firmly pulling me by the hand.  
We hurry towards my left, where the other guards came from, to a black car where another security guard awaits and immediately opens the door. It's parked strategically near a roundabout behind the dome, right next to the highway. I get in gasping for air, my heart pounding. Inside, Jimin, Hobi and Yoongi are already there. Yoongi and Hobi are sitting next to each other, and Kookie sits between me and Jimin, across from the others. The car starts moving as soon as we're inside.  
“What happened?” Hobi asks confused.  
Jimin is startled by Jungkook's somber expression, gaping at him then at me repeatedly. Yoongi is the first to notice the blood on my arm. He touches it lightly. “You're hurt.”  
“Oh,” I mutter, moving my arm to check. My elbow hurts where it scraped against the sidewalk.  
Jungkook closes his eyes and touches his forehead with his index and middle finger, taking a deep breath.  
“Where's Namjoon?” I inquire in a low voice. The tension in the vehicle is palpable.  
Jimin is murmuring to Jungkook, so he doesn't pay attention. It's Yoongi who responds, taking out some wet wipes from a duffle bag beside him and handing them to me nonchalantly.  
“He's in the other car with Jin, Tae and the manager,” he says slowly in Korean.  
“He...ask me...to find you,” Kookie explains in English, opening his eyes. They looks fierce. “For the party.”  
We spend the rest of the journey in silence, except for the few mumbled exchanges between them here and there. They seem to not want to talk in front of me, perhaps worried about the answer to what actually happened. Too rattled to say anything, I just wipe my wound and take deep breaths until we arrive.  
We get to a fancy glass building after the uncomfortable ride that seemed to take hours. My heart has calmed its pace quite a bit, but I feel slightly cold and dizzy. The second I step out of the car, I wobble. I automatically lean back to support myself on the vehicle, my head spinning. I close my eyes.  
“Are you okay?” Hobi quickly asks. His voice sounds muffled, underwater, almost like a dream.  
I feel hands on both arms, but I don't open my eyes to check who's helping me move. My legs barely obey me, and I know I will fall if they let me go. It is as if the ground is pulling me and I have no center of gravity left. Instead, a black hole in my stomach is draining the strength from my limbs... I lose my senses. 

“Do you think she'll be okay?” Someone asks in Korean. “We can't have any more scandals.”  
Slowly opening my heavy lids, I make out three silhouettes in a dimly lit room. I blink, rubbing my eyes.  
“Where...where am I?” I whisper.  
In a quick leap, one of the figures rushes to my side and places one hand on my forehead. With his face close to mine and illuminated by a small table lamp, I see Kookie's concerned countenance. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration.  
“Jungkook?”  
One of the others also approaches us as I hear steps leaving the room and shutting the door. “Are you feeling better?” Namjoon's deep voice has a ring of anxiety.  
Taking a deep breath, I sit up. Though somewhat heavy, my head and coordination seem mostly back to normal. I nod avoiding their eyes, feeling a pang of embarrassment for causing them trouble.  
“I'm sorry,” I say with a sigh. “I didn't eat much and...”  
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Namjoon reassures me in English, though I can't really see his expression. “There's a party going on outside, but you can stay here if you want. Do you want me to bring you some food?”  
Kookie is still kneeling beside me, eagerly observing my movements. I suddenly notice I'm on someone's bed. Staying in the room would only make me feel more self-conscious, as I have no idea where I am or whose house it is. Besides, maybe getting up and putting some food in me will do the trick faster.  
I shake my head once. “No, I'll join the party,” I tell him while prompting myself up. “I'm fine.”  
Namjoon steps forward to help me, but Jungkook is already supporting me by the arm.  
“How long was I out?” I ask moving to the door. The music sounds louder now.  
Namjoon opens it and the corridor light reveals a mix of worry and regret in his eyes. “Not long. Maybe 10-15 minutes. Come on, let's get you some food.” He puts his arm softly on my back, glancing at Jungkook, and leads me towards the living room to our right.  
A few of the staff members and security guards are there, along with the rest of BTS, gathered around a few leather couches and a coffee table filled with snacks. A tall side table has a tray of champagne glasses and a couple of bottles in a bucket of ice. A small camera is placed strategically towards the center. Everyone's eyes turn to me and Namjoon as soon as we advance forward.  
After the mandatory questions to check if I feel better I sit next to Tae, who stares at me intently. I feel blood rushing to my cheeks. They surely think I'm a nuisance, ruining the vibe of their after-party... I wonder how much they already know about the incident with Jungkook and those fans—based on the way the staff is glaring at me, they all know everything by now.  
“Are you hot, Sky?” Hobi asks standing behind the couch across from me.  
Quickly covering my cheeks, I smile awkwardly. “Ahm...no. I'm fine. I think I just need a drink.”  
“I'll get you some juice,” Namjoon responds immediately.  
“No,” I call out, stopping him on his tracks. “I mean...I think I need alcohol.”  
He raises one eyebrow, hesitating. “But you fainted before. You should eat and—”  
“I'm fine,” I cut him off trying to reassure him with a smile. I know no amount of food or juice will make me feel less uncomfortable. “I was just a bit dizzy before, but don't worry. I'll be fine.”  
Namjoon takes a deep breath. “Okay. But eat something too.”  
I reach for the snacks in front of me and put one in my mouth without fully knowing what it is. The atmosphere is not as light as it should be after winning so many awards, and I am perfectly aware I am the cause. Tae is still watching my movements, taking a piece of pastry from the coffee table as well. Jimin, sitting on the other couch, smirks encouragingly.  
“Did you like our show?” He makes conversation in Korean.  
“Yes!” I exclaim honestly, trying to squash my anxiety. “It was magical. You were awesome.”  
Jimin laughs warmly; his familiar laughter makes me relax a little. Just then, Namjoon arrives with two glasses and hands me one. Reaching for it, I take a long sip and realize I hadn't noticed how dry my throat was. It immediately makes me feel better. Hobi and Jin start singing playfully and Jimin joins in, now distracted by his hyungs. Tae also smiles and gets up, going towards Kookie and Yoongi who are standing in a corner. Namjoon sits beside me, apparently less nervous than before. I feel his warmth on the right side of my body. Suddenly, an accidental brush of his arm on my elbow makes me flinch.  
“Ouch,” I mutter.  
“Oh, I'm sorry,” he says almost jumping out of the couch. “I heard you got hurt, was it this arm?”  
I finish the glass in one go, frustrated. I just want to forget everything. “Yes. but I'm fine. I'm gonna get another glass.”  
“Boys, we have to do the live,” one of the staff announces approaching us as if on cue.  
They gather back at the couches as I move away from the camera. They greet the fans as soon as the camera is on, and I decide to give them space. Grabbing one of the bottles, I step away towards the big window and fill my glass. The bright city lights permeate the view and extend as far as I can see. I drink my second glass quickly, still thirsty from all the anxiety I experienced earlier. I only have one day left before I go back home...to reality. Although 48 hours haven't passed since I arrived, that reality is somehow like a distant memory. The stupor of the alcohol begins to take effect on my body, faster than usual, and I push away those thoughts. The crazy fans, fainting, leaving Korea—I don't want to think about any of it.  
I look back over my shoulder; the boys are still chattering to the fans and thanking them for the awards. They seem carefree, happily oblivious to my presence. Perhaps there won't be any backlash after tonight if...No. No more of that. I pour more champagne and down it in one gulp. My stomach complains. I should have eaten more snacks.  
Stumbling once on my way back to the ice bucket, I return the bottle trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. A hand pulls me aside by my left arm. It's Jin Woo, the man who drove me to the apartment the day before; I hadn't noticed him yet. With his hand palm down, he signals for me to follow him and leads me to the kitchen.  
“Here,” he tells me in Korean as he points to the kitchen counters. There are a few side dishes and snacks there as well. “Eat something. You'll feel better.”  
I smile. “Thanks.” I grab some spicy chips and start munching.  
“You better wait here,” he instructs me slowly. “While they're recording.”  
I nod and he walks away, peeking back a couple of times to check if I understood. I chuckle to myself.  
Oh, Sky. You made quite the mess, I think.  
I continue to eat indiscriminately, my head now groggy. Bending over one of the counters, I lay it over my folded arms and close my eyes. I don't know how many minutes pass, but I might have dozed off. A sudden touch on my back startles me and I straighten up a bit too swiftly. It's Jungkook. He looks intense, staring into my eyes with concern and something else I can't define.  
“Oh,” I exhale. “I didn't hear you come in. Are you done with the live?”  
“Yes,” he answers.  
“Should I...go back?”  
He hesitates for a second, glancing at the door and back at me. “Can I talk to you?”  
His tone sends a shiver up my gut. Although he is asking, the urgency in his voice lets me know he is in control at the moment and there is only one answer to his question. A glimpse of the Kookie I saw when he punched the guy outside the stadium, focused and older than his years, crosses his face.  
“Okay,” I mutter.  
“Come with me,” he says as he moves towards the front door, where he takes our coats.  
While I follow I see Namjoon looking at us from afar with a hint of confusion, which I imagine mirrors mine, but he doesn't try to stop us. When we reach the elevator, he gives me my coat and presses the last button. “We're going to the rooftop.”


End file.
